The Angel in the Storm
by ohkisme
Summary: Hunter!Cas and Angel!Dean ficlet string. [T for Language thus far]
1. The Barn

Thunder crashed overhead like bombs, and lightning lit up the rain that slammed against the windows. The howling of the wind masked another sound: the beating of wings.

Castiel looked around the barn in horror. What could be this powerful? The strongest demon he knew didn't even come close. He held his dirty coat close to himself, desparately seeking warmth.

To Cas's dismay, the barn doors were forced open, nearly falling off their rusted hinges. He stumbled backward, sheilding his eyes from the bright light pouring in from outside. Though he hated to admit it, he was terrified.

Then, as quickly as the light appeared, it faded. The creature left standing there was nothing like what Cas expected. For one, well, it wasn't a creature- as far as he knew. It could have been a shifter or a demon, but it didn't flinch when Castiel got out his holy water and silver blade.

The man- Cas supposed he could call him that- was, to put it simply, beautiful. His ruddy skin was dappled with freckles and his light, tawny hair was perfectly cut. But as the man's green gaze bore into him, Cas was filled with a strange feeling of unease.

"W-who are you...?" he asked falteringly, voice barely audible above the noise from the storm. The man looked over at him, ever silent, but as Castiel watched, something seemed to unfold from his shoulders. Cas gazed up in amazement as long, feathery wings emerfed from the man's back. He took a step backward in confusion. "_What_ are you?" he uttered, tightening his grip on the dagger.

The creature took a step forward to match Castiel's actions and looked him straight in the eye. "I am Dean," he dictated, "And I am an angel of the Lord."


	2. The Sword

A year later. It was a year later, and everything had gone to hell. Who knew an angel could mess so much up? But of course, it wasn't the angel's fault, it was Castiel's fault- but he wasn't really one to make himself feel worse than he already did. Well, yes he was, but he wasn't going to admit it to anyone. Although, people pretty much knew already.

Castiel was currently perched on the arm of a couch, head in his hands, thinking. The Michael Sword. Was that him? The words kept ringing in his ears. No. No, he had to stay here. Keep Sam safe. It was the bloody apocalypse and if he wasn't himself, then who would be there for his brother? No, he couldn't do it. He shouldn't have to. And he hoped he'd never have to.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and in a moment he was halfway across the couch, back tingling from the soft touch, but mind reeling from the shock. "Dean, you can't just do that!" he snapped, blushing. Could angels read minds? He was scared, but that wasn't something everyone needed to know. Fuck his father for making him grow up thinking it was a weakness.

The angel in question just stared back, an apathetic look on his face. "You're anxious," he noted, glancing at Castiel's sweaty palms and ruffled hair. He frowned slightly, but almost as if it were a law- which Cas supposed it was- he went back to looking as if he rather didn't give a toss. What didn't stop was the flicking of his eyes from Cas's face to his hands to his heaving chest, still startled from the sudden appearance.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Cas grumbled, sitting up and pretending to dust himself off. "You scared the Hell outta me." But even as he spoke, a grin spread across his face. Angels were dicks, but at least they made good company.

"Apologies," Dean mumbled and glanced down toward his feet. "Do you need to talk?"


	3. The Pit

The smell of sweat, blood, and tears invaded Castiel and nearly knocked him out. What just happened? It was all a blur- he couldn't remember anything from the past... hour, at least. His brain was muddled and his thoughts were incoherent. He remembered Sam being here, but if we was gone now, were was he?

His body was bloody and aching, and tears streaked down his face, mixing with the sweat from his palms as he wiped them away. With tremendous effort, Cas tried to gather his thoughts. Lifting his head as much as he could manage, he looked about at his surroundings. A disgusting grey sky, tall, dull green grass, and leafless trees all lined the graves poking out from the ground. A cemetery, and a familiar one, too.

With a small, whimpering noise of dismay, Cas realized what had happened. Not that he remembered, but something in him just knew. Sam was dead. His brother, the one he would always bleed for, would give anything for. As he stared weakly up to the sky, any remaining happiness he had left draining out of him, he tried to think of just what happened.

Cas remembered only the facts, not how it felt before the past few minutes that he could recall now. He knew that Lucifer had possessed Sam. He didn't know what how Sam felt about it. He knew that Sam had opened the pit, but he doesn't remember how it felt to watch him fall down into it as if he were a jumper on a building. He figured it was Lucifer that had left these marks on his soul and on his face- bruises and cuts and everything else imaginable- but he can't quite recall what was going through his head when his brother was being used in such a heinous, blasphemous way.

One thing Cas does know is the way he's feeling right now. Which is, in a word, dismal. With every second more he thinks about it, the life seems to drain out of him. He was always willing to bleed for Sam, but he'd be damned if he wanted Sam to even think of bleeding for him. And now here he was, trapped in hell with Lucifer, and Cas was just fine. He didn't mean for it to end this way.

But this had to be the end, hadn't it? There was Dean, yeah, but Dean was something different. Not a brother, or even close, and he couldn't just go hunting with a stupid semi-insane angel. Besides, angel of the Lord or not, Dean  
was still too much for himself. A bit too powerful, a bit too much into the hunt for a race that isn't bred to have any emotion at all. No, Dean was more like... a companion, a constant to his life, not a brother who annoyed the shit out of him when he wasn't tearing his heart out because he died so damn much (but Sam made Cas love him anyway because that's what brothers do).

Before he can get another crushing thought in on how he can go on, and how this is all his fault, and how he never meant for it to be this way, Dean is by Castiel's side and the angel's soft fingers are gliding over his face. Cas feels the wounds and blood dissappear, and he doesn't like it, because God, Sam's in Hell, he's the one who deserves to be saved, and he'd do anything to get him back. Hell, he'd go down there himself and fight their way out. But Dean tips the hunter's chin up and makes him open his eyes and not think about any of this.

Cas is sorry, he's really truly sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, he murmurs into oblivion, but the damned angel gets in the way, won't let him take all the blame, or any of it, or something, and pleads him to stop but he's already too far gone and he wants to make himself bleed again and he curses Dean for healing him and he curses himself for letting Sam die and he curses Sam for dying in the first place, and all these thoughts are running through his head and Dean won't take any of it anymore so he shuts him up the only way he knows how to.


End file.
